The College Brain Drain Affair
by Dancing April
Summary: Napoleon and Illya go undercover to discover the cause of bizarre memory loss afflicting some of the brightest students at a prestigious Pennsylvania college. Could THRUSH be involved? Illya soon falls victim to this mysterious malady, while Napoleon finds himself falling for a beautiful professor.
1. Chapter 1

*****UPDATE! THE FINAL 6 CHAPTERS plus the EPILOGUE HAVE BEEN POSTED, Saturday, August 1, 2015*****

* * *

 _ **WARNING! Although *T* Rated, this story contains adult content (some depiction of sex and nudity) and is not suitable for younger readers.**_

 **GENRE: Mystery, Drama, Suspense with a little adult romance, violence,** **angst, and hurt/comfort thrown in (but no erotica or slash)**

 **Note: The idea for this story was partly inspired by "The Cap and Gown Affair" episode that aired in 1967 in which Illya goes undercover as a college student. Also in keeping with some episodes within the series I've taken a slightly different approach with the plot, as you'll see as the story unfolds. :-)**

* * *

 **I hope you will enjoy it! And once again, a _sincere thank you_ to those who have been reading, reviewing, and/or pm-ing me about my stories...as well as welcoming me to the MFU fandom! And an added grateful thank you hug to WendieZ for her invaluable input in helping me correct some of the German language phrasing I used in my previous story, "The Master Race Affair".*****

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own the Man From U.N.C.L.E. series, images, or its original characters. This story is intended to be read and (hopefully) enjoyed solely as a work of fanfiction and is dedicated to the talented actors who portrayed these beloved characters in the two original 1960s television series—Robert Vaughn, David McCallum, Leo G. Carroll, Stefanie Powers, Noel Harrison

* * *

 **Please note that in America, the word "college" is usually used to describe an institution of higher learning offering two- or four-yer degree programs. A college also tends to have a smaller campus and student body size than what we call a university, which usually also offer advanced degrees. (It can get more complicated than that, but that's the quick and simple explanation. I am aware that in some countries the term "college" has a different meaning.)**

* * *

This story features Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, with voice appearances by Alexander Waverly

* * *

 **THE COLLEGE BRAIN DRAIN AFFAIR**

 **Somewhere In Western** **Pennsylvania**

 **PROLOGUE**

 **An Unwelcome Assignment**

* * *

Napoleon Solo had never seen his partner look that bored.

No, he decided, _sullen_ might be the more accurate way to describe Illya's mood and expression at that moment. He was letting the senior agent know that although he was present in Solo's classroom, he was far from happy about being there.

Napoleon glanced around the room as he continued lecturing, taking in the other disinterested or glassy-eyed expressions on some of the young faces before him. Could he really be that dull as a teacher? He was doing his best given he'd literally been thrown into this role with almost no time to prepare. And anthropology had never been his area of expertise (or interest) by any means.

He'd arrived on the Prichard College campus two weeks earlier to serve as the substitute teacher for the regular instructor who had taken a sudden sabbatical at the arrangement of Alexander Waverly and Prichard's Dean of Students so Solo could step in to take his place. Illya, however, had only gotten there earlier that day, as was prearranged.

Napoleon's gaze settled briefly on his partner again. Seated at a desk toward the back, the younger agent's attitude and slouched body language perfectly mirrored that of many of the other students in the classroom; and with a flash of annoyance Solo thought Illya was going beyond immersing himself in his current role as a student in Solo's anthropology class.

The senior U.N.C.L.E. agent could excuse the other kids for their lackluster attention span. It was nearing end of term and everyone was feeling the pressure. But this was only Illya's first day there in the guise of a new transfer student named Illya Ivonovich.

 _He could at least pretend that he was interested in the lecture_ … _out of support and loyalty to me, if nothing else,_ Solo thought a little irritably.

But his annoyance quickly abated. To be fair he knew even before Illya had arrived how aggravated his younger partner was at being assigned to play this type of undercover role again _._

When the two U.N.C.L.E. agents had been given this mission Solo had immediately sensed the blond Russian's dour mood as soon as they left the office of Section Chief Alexander Waverly.

They both understood that Waverly felt that of the two agents, the 30-year-old Kuryakin best fit the role of a student for this new assignment. With his slight build and 5'8" stature, over-long crown of golden hair, and smooth boyish features Illya still looked young enough to easily fit into this type of role in an academic environment. He was also extremely brilliant, with multiple Ph.D.s. And thus the combination of his youthful appearance and intelligence were integral to this particular mission at a prestigious Pennsylvania college known worldwide for its demanding academic curriculum and outstanding performance levels of its international student body.

Yet Solo was keenly aware that Illya found this type of role-playing tedious because he had to both look and act juvenile. In addition, he also had to sit through classes, take tests, and complete assignments for many of the same type of course work he'd finished long ago while earning his own degrees.

However, the younger agent only voiced his complaints to Napoleon in private, and certainly never to U.N.C.L.E. Chief Alexander Waverly. The senior agent knew that his partner was first and foremost a dedicated professional who ultimately strove to do any assignment well, even when he hated it.

"I'd change places with you, my friend, if it would be believable," the 35-year-old Solo had commiserated with him later while they were sitting at a popular New York City bar having drinks. "But I can't pass as a twenty-something and you can. But lucky me, I get to play the stodgy professor role once more. And teach anthropology of all things!" Looking at his glum partner he'd then added mischievously, "But just think of all the pretty young coeds who will be itching to get their hands into that hair of yours."

Napoleon couldn't resist razzing him, aware of the fascination the youthful Russian's abundant fair locks held for the opposite sex of all ages.

At Solo's teasing Kuryakin had grimaced and retorted, "You know full well how much I dislike being manhandled, and especially by…teeny boppers!" which caused the senior agent to laugh at that understatement.

On past assignments, teenage girls they had encountered during a mission invariably zeroed in on the blond agent despite the fact he was far too old for them and that he always did everything he could to discourage their fervent attentions.

Thus Solo knew this was another reason his partner was dreading his new undercover assignment in a college setting again.

He'd clapped Illya on the shoulder and advised teasingly, "Well, look on the bright side. At least the young ladies at Prichard will be of legal age should you, ah, decide to mix professional business with a little personal pleasure."

At that Kuryakin had only downed the rest of his drink and ordered another.

Now, as Napoleon was observing the younger agent glumly slouched in his seat at the back of the classroom, he also couldn't help be amused that some of the female students were already surreptitiously paying more attention to the attractive new transfer student than they were to Solo's lecture, and he smiled inwardly as he recalled that earlier conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

 **Bad To The Bone**

* * *

Glancing at the clock up on the wall Napoleon noted that the class period was about to end. "I think that will wrap it for today," he announced in his role as Professor Nathan Sinclair. He pushed his fake eyeglasses further up on his nose and turned back to the chalkboard, wrote out the reading material he was assigning the class, then put the chalk down and briskly brushed its dust from his fingertips. "Please have those chapters read by Friday," he directed as he reseated himself at his large wooden desk. "Oh, and there likely will be a pop quiz as well." This elicited a series of muffled groans from the class just as the bell rang signaling an end to the first period.

Solo watched the students file out, smiling or nodding at those who passed the closest to his desk. Some of the girls even gave him flirtatious smiles or appraising looks which told the handsome dark-haired agent that the *Clark Kent* look he'd adopted for his professor role had not entirely diminished his usual appeal to the opposite sex—although, like Illya, he never touched young girls and certainly not a student while on assignment.

At the rear of the throng he spotted his partner and called out in his best teacher's voice, "Oh, there in the back…would the blond young man wearing the dark t-shirt that reads "Bad to the Bone" please stay a moment."

That elicited some light snickers from the dispersing students, and a few of them (mostly female) glanced back in Illya's direction, and Solo saw him flash the senior agent a questioning look as he slowly made his way toward the front of the room.

A pretty girl with auburn shoulder-length hair was walking next to him. She'd been seated in front of Illya and now she touched his arm and said something, and Solo saw the Russian nod his head and reply. That seemed to bring a bright smile to the girl's face and she gave him a lingering look just before exiting the classroom.

 _Ahh, a conquest already_ , Solo thought with amusement. Watching the slim agent and the girl, Solo again had to marvel at how well Illya could so easily fit into this type of environment. No one would ever guess he wasn't the same age as these kids, especially when he dressed and acted younger.

"You wished to speak to me, Professor Sinclair?" the blond agent asked politely, brushing his long bangs out of his eyes as he approached the desk. He'd been letting his hair grow even longer over the past few weeks, and its shaggier look and the way he was dressed completed the *early twenties* image he needed to project for this undercover role.

In Illya's left hand he was carrying a notebook and over his right shoulder was slung a heavy denim book bag. He was wearing black-and-white Converse sneakers, tight straight-leg Maverick jeans, and a black short-sleeved t-shirt emblazoned with a scowling skull-and-crossbones decal, beneath which was boldly imprinted "Bad to the Bone".

Recalling his partner's true feelings about this assignment and his less-than-enthused demeanor in class, Solo thought to himself it might be more fitting if his shirt read "Mad to the Bone".

Nodding at the Russian he said pleasantly, "Uh, yes, Mr. Ivonovich. I just wanted to welcome you and let you know that I've signed your admittance form to this class. Just turn it in at the Admissions Office sometime today." He handed him the sheet of paper as the last few students were leaving.

As Illya dutifully took it Solo smiled slyly and added in lowered tones, "I noticed how much you seemed to be enjoying the class."

The blond agent didn't miss a beat as his vibrant blue-eyed gaze met Solo's teasing look. "It was a scintillating lecture. As always," he responded dryly, tucking the admittance form into his notebook.

Solo shook his head and grinned, "I'll try to make it even more riveting next time." He paused, glancing around to be sure the classroom was now empty except for the two of them. "So what's your next class?"

At that moment in the outré hallway they could hear some students laughingly rough-housing, while others were calling to each other as they jostled passed Solo's classroom, and Illya glanced over his shoulder toward the open doorway at the noisy throng.

"Bring back fond memories?" Solo quipped. The younger agent merely flashed him a sour look and opened his notebook to refer to a schedule he'd been given. "It says on here that my next course is "The Dynasties of Ancient Egypt" with a Professor Eva Langstrom."

"Well, that certainly sounds more exciting than anthropology," Napoleon smirked.

"Mmm, well, my classes were all chosen for me, as you know, for obvious reasons," Illya replied.

"Yup, I know," Solo nodded, adding with a smile, "Well, I can tell you that Professor Langstrom is quite charming and not at all what you would except. Nothing stodgy or 'school marm' about her. I met her in the teachers' lounge not long after I got here, and we've become, ah, good friends."

"That didn't take long," Illya said wryly, giving him a knowing look as he closed the notebook.

"Just doing my job by ingratiating myself to the academic faculty and community here," Solo grinned, then quirked both eyebrows at him as he leaned back in his chair. "And I see you also made a new friend."

At Illya's puzzled look Solo prompted, "You know, the cute little redhead who spoke to you a few minutes ago. I recognize a crush in the making when I see it. Hers on you, that is, you cradle robber."

A slight flush crept over Illya's fine features and Solo could not hide his amused reaction.

The blond retorted, "She simply asked me if I played in a band and I told her that I do sometimes…which, as you know, is true."

"Uh, huh," Solo chuckled. "Your first Prichard groupie then."

Illya let out an exasperated sigh and glanced at the wall clock. "I've got to go. The bell will sound again soon and I have to head to another building for that next class."

"Adiós, mi amigo. Have fun with the Pharaohs," Solo grinned as his partner left.

* * *

Outside in the crowded hall two men dressed as janitors, one holding a broom, the other a mop, stood lounging by a drinking fountain. As Illya emerged from Solo's classroom and hurried away down the corridor the man holding the mop said to the other, "That's him, the long-haired blond kid in the black tee and jeans. Follow him. But remember...right now they just want to know who he talks to, what he does. They'll have us snatch him when they think it's safe."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

 **Is THRUSH Behind The Brain Drain?**

* * *

(A few days later)

Wanting a change of scenery Solo had decided to drive off campus to find some lunch before giving his current report to New York U.N.C.L.E. Chief Alexander Waverly. The agent was parked at an A&W root beer stand contentedly sipping on a large frosty glass of the dark rich beverage and munching on a chili dog.

He popped the last morsel into his mouth, washed it down with the root beer and wiped his mouth and hands with the napkins provided. Finished with his lunch, he glanced around to be sure no one was paying any unusual attention to him. He'd parked in an end space and no other vehicle was immediately adjacent to him on the passenger side of his car, and he pulled out his cylindrical communicator from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"Open Channel D please," he said in low tones.

The connection was almost instantaneous. "Good to hear from you, Mr. Solo. Anything new to report?" Waverly's distinctive cultured voice inquired from the mini speaker on the communicator.

Again Solo glanced around at his surroundings before replying, but the few other patrons of the stand seemed engrossed in their own food orders and were showing no interest in him.

"Well, Sir, so far there are no signs that THRUSH may be involved in this case. And I can say that Illya is aptly playing his role here as brilliant overachiever. He seems to be acing all of his classes, including mine." That was true. Despite the younger agent's initial feelings about this assignment, he had gotten over his pique and was now playing his part well.

Solo continued: "So far, however, no one has tried to make contact with him although he senses he's under observation."

"I see," Waverly replied. "Mr. Kuryakin's suspicions may be correct. Dean Channing has contacted me again to say that another of Prichard's students has been adversely affected by this mysterious malady that has been causing her such concern for the safety and health of all her student body."

"The debilitating headaches and exhaustion?" Solo asked.

"Precisely."

"End of term has begun, Sir. Is Dean Channing certain this isn't the usual type of mental and physical exhaustion that can happen when the kids are writing term papers and cramming at all hours of the day and night for final exams? The academic pressures on them at this school are excessively demanding. Even Illya is feeling the strain to some degree because of the workload he is carrying coming in so late as a transfer student."

"Dr. Channing feels it is more than that, and I tend to agree with her, Mr. Solo. It is up to you and Mr. Kuryakin to discover the source of this 'brain drain' as it were that is going on at Prichard. Apparently the latest student stricken has been treated for some minor memory loss."

Solo frowned down at the communicator in his hand. "I agree, that doesn't sound normal."

"A pattern also seems to be emerging. Dean Channing has noted that the students affected, both male and female, are those with the highest documented IQ levels. As you recall Prichard College is renowned for attracting students of the most advanced academic caliber and standing."

"And you think Illya will be a target then," Solo commented worriedly.

"Possibly. Mr. Kuryakin's IQ levels border on genius, and that would be very clear in his student transfer records provided to the school. And now you say he is reporting he feels he's being watched. Thus it stands to reason whoever is behind this phenomena at the school is aware of his academic skills. And… there is something else Dr. Channing has now noted as these incidents have progressed."

"Sir?"

"While the Infirmary at Prichard has seen an increase in students complaining of exhaustion and headaches, their symptoms have been relatively mild and attributable to general academic as well as end of term stress. But the most serious cases, like this recent one, have been students who reside at a dormitory there known as Webster House."

"What? That's where Illya is living!" Solo exclaimed.

"So I've been told by Dr. Channing. Advise Mr. Kuryakin of these new concerns, Mr. Solo."

"I will, Sir."

"And, Mr. Solo…also keep a close eye on that young man. He may be in far more personal danger than any of us realized at the beginning of this mission, so caution him to be particularly vigilant."

"Of course, Sir," Solo replied, closing off the connection and putting away the communicator.

He was deep in thought when a girl's voice asked at his left shoulder, "Do you need anything else, Mister?" and he jumped a little, turning his head to see the teenage carhop peering in at him.

He smiled up at her. "Ah, no thank you. I'm finished if you'd like to take the tray now."

He handed her a tip and the carhop thanked him and efficiently dislodged the service tray from the lowered window of Solo's rental car and moved away.

He started the vehicle and backed out of the parking bay, his thoughts still in turmoil. If Dean Channing and Waverly were correct and Prichard's brightest students were being targeted, Illya could be in some very real danger—but to what extent and by whom still remained to be discovered.

* * *

(two nights later)

Dressed for bedtime in navy pajama bottoms and a simple white t-shirt, Illya had fallen asleep while studying, and he was lying on his back still wearing his reading glasses with his biology book open across his chest and the nightstand lamp still on.

The moderately-sized dorm room was furnished with a single bed, night stand and lamp, a student writing desk with typewriter, comfortable armchair, dresser, and bookcase. The unit also had its own bathroom and an ample walk-in closet. Illya's dorm building, known as Webster House, had been the showcase home at the turn of the century of one of the town's most prominent citizens, Elias Webster, whose daughter had later willed the aging mansion to Prichard College.

Just as the clock struck 2 a.m. a faint mist began to fill the room, coming from a small vent hidden under Illya's bed. The opaque vapor swirled up silently, engulfing the room, its furnishing, and the young man asleep on the bed for several long minutes. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the mist stopped and a soft vacuum of air began sucking the fog back through the grating until once again the air was clear.

Not long afterward the door to the walk-in closet opened and two men emerged. Of a height, they were dressed in dark clothing and were wearing black cloth concealing hoods with nose, mouth and eye slits.

The stockier of the two intruders walked quickly over to the door to the room to make sure it was locked while his partner moved to stand over the prone figure lying on the bed.

He leaned down and gently shook Illya, who remained unresponsive, and he shook him even harder to confirm that the young man was indeed in a deeply drugged state. He then removed his eye glasses and the biology book laying open on Illya's chest and set them aside on the nightstand beside the reading lamp.

He turned toward his companion and snapped his fingers, and the other man left the door and crossed over to the bed. Together the two masked intruders lifted the unconscious U.N.C.L.E. agent's limp form and carried him back through the closet opening.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER THREE**

 **Eva Langstrom**

* * *

Napoleon Solo was worried. His partner had not come to class the next morning nor had he contacted Solo to give him any reason why he'd be absent, which wasn't like Illya.

Hs feeling of disquiet persisted so strongly that halfway through the class period Solo decided to go looking for him, telling his students to work on a reading assignment while he stepped out for a few minutes.

He left the lecture hall and was making his way across campus toward Illya's dorm building when a familiar female voice called out a greeting to him.

"Hello, Nathan! Finished so soon?"

Solo slowed down and looked to his right to see Eva Langstrom coming toward him. Normally he would have been pleased to see her but at that moment he felt a prickle of irritation by the delay to his important errand.

"Hello, Eva," he responded back with a practiced smile, trying not to sound or seem inpatient with her since his worry about Illya had nothing to with her, and he could tell she was very happy to see him.

"Is your class over so soon?" she asked again, smiling quizzically at him as she came closer. She was carrying her brown leather briefcase and Solo knew she'd be heading to her own classroom soon, the one Illya had with her after Solo's ended.

"Ah, no, but I had a quick errand to run and my students are working on an assignment until I return," he offered, slowly starting to move away from her again. "I'm a little rushed, Eva, but would you like to meet up in the teachers' lounge after the morning sessions end? We could have lunch together at that in-town coffee house you've been telling me about if you're available" he said to her, flashing a charming smile. "My treat, of course."

Beaming at him she nodded. "Sounds lovely. I'll see you a little later then," and she also started walking away. Their greeting had been brief and cordial, and no one—students or faculty—would have guessed they'd already become lovers.

Solo regretted having to brush her off like that, especially now that they'd become intimate. They'd hit it off from the moment they'd met that first day he'd arrived on campus, and she was one of the most attractive women he'd ever encountered. Slim and petite, she was in her mid-30s and had dark arched brows framing luminous sea green eyes. Her crowning glory was literally her waist-length ebony hair which she usually wore in a long braid down her back—but Solo already had discovered the sensuality of those fragrant and unbound raven tresses draped over his bare chest and shoulders when she sat or lay atop him during their lovemaking, luxuriating in the touch and feel of each other.

Eva was not only stunning to look at, but she was quite brilliant as well, attributes that Illya had later agreed with when he'd talked to Napoleon about his impressions of each of his other instructors, including Professor Langstrom.

However, because of who and what he was, Napoleon Solo was a master at compartmentalizing his relationships with women; so at that moment his thoughts and intent were not focused on his sex life, but on his missing partner, who still wasn't responding to the senior agent's attempts to reach him on the communicator.

* * *

Solo quickly crossed the quad and entered through the ornately-carved central doors of Webster House. Inside, the huge interior center hall with its arched ceiling was cool and shadowed. A half dozen students sat around on brown leather couches talking in low voices or studying. At the far end was a hand carved mahogany staircase that angled up through the enormous building, and on the first landing was an immense floor–to-ceiling stained glass window depicting courtly love scenes of knights and fair maidens. Although the window was original to the house (commissioned by Elias Webster as a romantic gesture to his wife Lavinia when the mansion was constructed), its images of young men and women seemed fitting since Webster House was now a co-ed dorm.

Illya's room was on the fourth floor, or former attic, which had originally housed the servants' quarters, but Solo opted to take the stairs rather than wait for one of the two slow-as-molasses elevators.

When he reached the Russian's room he glanced both ways down the carpeted hallway, glad that it was empty for the moment. Fortunately, most of the students would be in class at this time of the day, and he rapped lightly on Illya's door—but there was no response.

Trying the handle, he found it was locked and reached into a pocket of his jacket and extracted his set of door picks. He tried one, then another until he heard the lock on the door click open, and he cautiously entered the darkened room.

He tried the light switch to the right of the doorframe, but it didn't seem to be working, and thus it took Solo's eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom since the closed Venetian blinds shut out any outside light from the only window in the room. It was then he noticed an odd, faint medicinal smell as well...not yet realizing its importance.

He crossed to the window and opened the blinds enough to brighten the interior more, and then as he turned and glanced around he gave a start when he realized the bed was occupied.

"Illya?" he said, catching a glimpse of familiar golden hair and part of a foot showing from beneath the bed covers—but again there was no response.

His throat tightening, Solo crossed to the bedside and leaned over his inert partner…then let out a sign of relief when he heard the light and steady breathing of his friend.

"Time to get up, sleeping beauty!" he said firmly, shaking the Russian's shoulder. The younger man slowly stirred and pulled the covers away from his face.

He blinked up at Solo. "Wha…what are you doing here?" he asked groggily.

"It's well past ten. You missed my class and I got worried when I didn't hear from you or couldn't reach you on the communicator. Why didn't you let me know you planned to sleep in? I was worried. Are you ill?"

"What do you mean I slept in?" Illya mumbled, sitting up. He ran a hand through his tangled hair and looked over at his clock, frowning. "I, uh, must have slept through the alarm. I'm sorry, Napoleon," he said sheepishly.

Solo could see he seemed a little confused and not quite himself. "Are you sure you are feeling all right?"

Illya massaged his eyes with his hands. "Well, to be honest, I do feel dead tired." He threw back the covers and swung his legs out so he could sit on the edge of the bed. As he did so he felt a strange wave of vertigo, followed by a flash of blinding pain, and he brought both hands up again to his head and muttered, "And I seem to have a whopping headache as well."

His brow furrowed with concern Solo asked, "Do you have any aspirin in here anywhere."

"I think so, in the medicine cabinet," the blond agent replied, squinting up at his friend. "And can you close those blinds a little more, please."

Leaving his side, Solo did as he asked and then went into the other room, where Illya could hear him rummaging around. Within moments he was back with a glass of water and some of the aspirin. "Take these. Maybe they will help. You look awful. Are you getting sick?"

The blond downed the aspirin. "No, I just didn't sleep well last night, and I remember now that I had a lot of strange dreams." He shrugged a little. "That's probably why I overslept and I feel so tired." He set the glass of water down on the bedside table, and his eye fell on his reading glasses and the biology book placed next to the table lamp, which was now turned off.

Remembering that he'd fallen asleep while studying, he just assumed Solo had turned off the lamp and placed the book and eyeglasses on the night stand when he woke him, and so he said nothing.

There was another flare of pain in his head, and Illya muttered something in Russian and closed his eyes and began rubbing at his temples.

The senior agent sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, scrutinizing him carefully. "You don't look like you feel well. My class is nearly over, but do you think you can make it to Eva's class?"

Glancing at him Illya said tiredly. "Beside this splitting headache I do feel a little light-headed, so perhaps I need to rest for a bit longer." He picked up the water glass again and drained it, then handed it back to Napoleon, who stood and returned it to the bathroom. When he came back out the younger agent was again lying on his back with his bent left arm slung over his closed eyes.

"Just rest then. Call on the communicator if you need anything" Solo told him, going to the door.

"Uh-huh, thanks," the Russian mumbled. He was fast asleep again within minutes after Napoleon left the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FOUR**

 **Illya Slowly Slides Down The Brain Drain**

* * *

The next two mornings Illya arrived on time for Solo's anthropology class; but on the third day he came in fifteen minutes late and then slept through part of the lecture.

Napoleon found it hard to conduct the class due to his growing concerns over the youthful agent's uncharacteristic behavior. So when class finally ended Napoleon asked him to stay after on the pretense that he wanted to talk to him about a research paper he was working on.

After everyone else had gone Solo closed the door to the classroom and then turned back to his partner, who had taken a seat across from Napoleon's desk. Illya seemed strangely subdued as the other agent walked over to him.

"What's going on? What's wrong? It's not like you to come in late and then fall asleep in class."

Today the youthful Russian's t-shirt was imprinted with a psychedelic head shot of folk rock singer-songwriter Bob Dylan. When the younger man looked up at him Solo was shocked to see how dulled Illya's normally vibrant blue eyes were. "I am sorry, Napoleon. I don't know….I'm just not sleeping well for some reason."

Even the fact he had slipped and called Solo by his real name was a red flag to the senior agent. "Has anyone tried to contact you yet? Or have you been approached by anyone you don't know?" Solo asked him, taking a different tactic.

The blond shook his head a little, wincing as he did so. "No. Not at all, and I would have told you if they had. There's been nothing out of the ordinary. I pretty much only interact with kids who are in my classes or who live at Webster House."

"Well, you look terrible right now. How do you actually feel?"

Illya gave him a weary look. "In all honesty…like I've been hit with the proverbial ton of bricks. Achy all over, totally worn out…and out of it." He put a hand up to his forehead. "And I can't seem to get rid of this damn migraine headache."

Not liking the sound of that, Solo's frown deepened. "Maybe you need to go to the infirmary," he suggested. "It could be a bad virus."

"I've already been there. They think it's end of term stress and exhaustion and gave me a mild sedative to help me sleep better and something else for my headaches. But those don't seem to be helping much."

"Illya, if it's not a virus then I think you are developing some of the same symptoms as the other students that Dean Channing has been reporting, which is what brought us here in the first place. Can you trace your symptoms to anything unusual…something you've eaten or are drinking, or have been exposed to?"

The younger agent rubbed his hand across his face. "No. Nothing is different or out of the ordinary. I've made a point of keeping to a set routine as you know. I'm just not sleeping well…and the nightmares are becoming …."

There was a sharp knock at the classroom door and they both turned to se Eva Langstrom wave at them through its large glass pane. She then cracked the door open and stuck here head in.

"I'm sorry, Nathan. Are you in conference with Illya? I had something to ask you, but I can speak to you later."

Solo waved here in. "No, come in, its fine. Mr. Ivonovich was just asking me about some reading recommendations to help with his term paper." He looked back at Illya. "I know you have to head over to Professor Langstrom's class. But I'll be in the library after the last period today if you wish to consult with me further."

Taking his cue Illya got to his feet. "Thank you, Professor Sinclair, for your advice. I had planned to go there later, and may see you then." Slinging his book bag over his shoulder he nodded politely at Eva. "Excuse me, Professor."

"See you in class in a bit," she told him as he left. She turned back to Napoleon. "He's my brightest student. And such a nice boy, too, although he's a little reserved and quiet. The girls seem to find him quite attractive, but I think he's shy and, frankly, refreshingly unaware of his appeal. "

"Yes, I've noticed the same thing about him," Solo smiled back at her. He leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "So what's up?"

"Well, I stopped in to see if you'd like to come with me to a small dinner party at Dean Channing's home tonight. I'm sorry, Nathan…I know it's rather short notice, but it's her birthday and a few of us usually get together to celebrate it with her. You'll know some of the guests, but there are a couple of others on the staff I'd like you to meet."

He rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. "Well, let me check my busy social calendar…" he began facetiously, but seeing her dubious expression he relented and grinned. "I'm free as a bird. I'd love to escort you, and I appreciate the invitation. It'll be nice to do more socializing with other staff. Is this affair black tie and tails or casual?"

"Casual of course, silly man! You are in the boonies of Pennsylvania after all," she laughed. She then gave him a coy look. "And then later, I thought you and I might spend the, uh, rest of the evening together at my place. Since it'll be Friday night, we can sleep in and later have a leisurely brunch."

Solo's expressive sable brown eyes darkened and the intent look he gave her made Eva's heart suddenly flutter with excitement. Nathan Sinclair was not only incredibly handsome, even with his glasses, but she'd discovered he was also the most exciting lover she'd ever had.

They heard the bell sound signaling the beginning of the next period. "Well I've got to go," she managed to say, feeling giddy. "The natives will be restless until I get there."

He walked with her over to the doorway and said, "See you later then."

Smiling at him she nodded and left, and Solo returned to his desk and sat down, subconsciously drumming his fingertips on its smooth surface as his mind raced. As delightful as the prospect of spending the night making love to Eva was, as soon as she'd gone his thoughts had immediately returned to the conversation he'd been having with Illya.

He decided he'd better put a call in to Mr. Waverly as soon as he could.

* * *

"So you feel for certain that somehow Mr. Kuryakin is now falling victim to this strange malady which has been affecting some of the Prichard students?" Alexander Waverly intoned through the communicator.

"Yes, Sir, I do now. I only had a brief opportunity to question him about it and he can't pinpoint anything that is different in his daily routine that might be causing the problem. He is reporting that he is not sleeping well and is being plagued with terrible headaches. And twice he's mentioned he is having unusual nightmares. I haven't had a chance to question him more closely about that, but I intend to later today. Perhaps these nightmares hold a clue to what is going on here."

"Very well, Mr. Solo. Please report back to me as soon as you get a chance to do that. I'm very worried about Mr. Kuryakin."

"I know, Sir. So am I," Napoleon replied grimly, signing off.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER FIVE**

 **The Nightmares**

* * *

Solo was finally able to meet with Illya again later that afternoon. The two agents knew it would not be wise to look too secretive or chummy since Illya still felt he was being observed, and thus they chose a quiet yet public corner of the college's library as a rendezvous point. Normally, though, they seldom had personal contact, even in Solo's class, using their communicators to touch base. But this time Solo wanted to speak to his partner in person.

Illya brought his book and notes from Solo's anthropology class and they had arranged to make it look as if the younger agent happened upon *Professor Sinclair* at the library while doing research. Solo, who was already seated at a study table, then invited Illya to join him so anyone observing them would simply see a student consulting with an instructor, which was a common event especially during end of term.

Seating himself across from Napoleon, the blond agent had flipped his notebook open and handed it to his partner as part of their ruse. Without looking at the Russian Solo murmured, "So tell me more about these nightmares you're having. Your U.N.C.L.E. is also concerned."

Replying in equally low tones Illya said, "I can't remember much of the details. It's like a kaleidoscope of changing images that collide all around me but without sound. Then it all goes dark and I wake up feeling like crap and with one of these bad headaches."

"Can you remember anything else?" Solo asked.

Illya set his book aside and folded his arms, leaning forward a little. "There are strange figures standing around me." H paused, trying to recall more detail, and then said. "And…I think…I'm lying in a…well, deep coffin of some kind."

Trying not to react to that bizarre statement, Solo casually flipped a page in Illya's notebook and then looked over at his friend. "Well, that is certainly different. How many figures are there?" he asked, turning his attention back to the notebook.

"I'm not sure, maybe a half dozen. But I can't remember them clearly enough to be certain. I feel they are also disguised in some way because there are no faces. Yet they are telling me to do something…but I can't remember what it is other than it's painful and I try to fight it. Then I black out. But it's become these same recurring nightmares over and over." Looking disheartened, he ran a hand through his flaxen hair. "I'm sorry. I wish I could recall more details."

Gravely concerned, Solo replied quietly as he turned another page in Illya's notebook: "I'm going to request that you be pulled off this assignment. I think you are in too much danger from whoever is doing this, especially if our feathered friends are involved."

With a slight shake of his head Illya replied, "I've got to stay. It may be the only way to get to the bottom of all this. And didn't you say Dean Channing has reported that no other students are being affected right now?"

"That's because your U.N.C.L.E. and I believe all the focus seems to be solely on you," Solo replied worriedly.

Illya's blue-eyed gaze grew intent. "Well, then, I have to stay and see this through for the sake of these kids."

Solo looked unconvinced. "I don't like this, Illya. I can tell how badly you are becoming affected, and if this continues before we solve who is behind all of this, you may be seriously harmed…or worse."

Still speaking in low tones the youthful Russian replied adamantly, "I'm willing to take that chance. Better me than one of these innocent kids." He could see how uneasy his words made his partner, and before the senior agent could argue with him further he added firmly, "Look, we both know that I didn't initially want to do this, but I can't walk away now and allow another student to come to harm because I left in order to save myself. So make it clear to my U.N.C.L.E. that I intend to stay and do my job and see this through to the end, whatever happens."

Knowing how headstrong Illya could be, Solo let it go at that. He closed the notebook and handed it back to the blond. "I'm thinking it's possible that something may be happening to you at night, when you'd be the most vulnerable. I suggest you set up surveillance in your room. That may provide some answers."

Illya nodded without further comment, taking the notebook and putting it in his denim book bag.

Watching him, Solo said, "I've got a dinner at the Dean's to go to tonight. And I, uh, wasn't planning to be back on campus until tomorrow. But I can change my plans."

The younger agent shook his head, understanding Napoleon was planning to spend the night with Eva Langstrom. "That's not necessary. You can't babysit me every minute of the day or night."

Solo gave him a troubled look. "I'm serious. Will you be all right?"

Nodding, Illya stood and gathered up his things.

"Thank you for your time, Professor Sinclair," he said to Solo in a normal voice. "You've given me some fresh ideas on how to approach this assignment."

"Glad to be of help," Napoleon replied, smiling up at him. Only his dark eyes gave away how worried he truly felt. "See you in class on Monday, Mr. Ivonovich. Have a pleasant weekend."

"You as well, Professor," Illya replied, flashing him a knowing smile.

After the Russian had walked away Solo leaned back in his chair and casually stretched. The calculated action gave him a chance to glance idly around the library, verifying to his satisfaction that no one had been within ear shot of them, nor did anyone seem to be showing any obvious interest in his meeting with Illya. Few people were in that section of the library, only about a handful of students and a burly janitor who had his back to Solo as he emptied waste cans and pencil sharpeners over on the far side of the room.

Whoever was keeping an eye on Illya was also keeping a low profile.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SIX**

 **The Mystery Deepens**

* * *

After a reasonable interval following Illya's departure, Napoleon decided to leave the library. He had started to make his way out of the study center when he heard a young girl's voice say anxiously, "Professor Sinclair, could I speak to you for a moment?"

Solo turned to see Kellie Morgan, the pretty redhead who'd taken a fancy to Illya that first day he was in class. He also knew that sometimes she and the blond agent walked together to Eva Langstrom's Egyptology class after Solo's ended and that Illya and Kellie had become casual friends…casual on Illya's part at least since the girl was too young for him and a student.

Solo smiled at her. "Hello, Miss Morgan, what can I help you with?" he offered, thinking she had a question regarding the class assignment to be completed over the weekend.

When she looked at him Solo was surprised to see that the expression on her face was doleful. Normally Kellie Morgan was a seeminglyupbeat type of girl.

"What's wrong?" he asked her in a concerned voice. "Is it the weekend assignment or something to do with your term paper?"

Her big hazel eyes under her fringe of auburn bangs looked at him so sadly he thought she might burst into tears.

"No, Professor Sinclair. It's about Illya. I saw you speaking with him earlier. I'm very worried about him, and I don't know who else to talk to."

"I'm not sure I can help," Solo told her carefully, hoping it wasn't about her unrequited crush on his youthful partner. "But go ahead. What do you mean?"

"Well, he hasn't been well for days now. I ran into him when he first got here to the library a while ago and when I said hello ….he looked at me as if he didn't recognize me for a moment. And then he called me…Cassie."

Solo looked thoughtful. "Well, I think he's had a bug, Kellie. And as a transfer student coming in this late in the school year, he's been carrying an exceptionally heavy work load in order to catch up, so given …."

"No, Sir, it's more than that! When Illya and I walk together to Professor Langstrom's class I can ask him anything about the reading material in yours or her class and he always knows the answers. He's as brilliant as he is gorgeous. But lately…he seems to…well, struggle with the answers, or he changes the subject. It's like he doesn't remember the stuff he used to know…even simple thing such as remembering my name earlier. That's not like Illya at all."

Her words thoroughly alarmed Solo, but in an effort to allay her fears, he calmly replied, "Miss Morgan, I can tell that you are deeply worried about him, I'll talk to Mr. Ivonovich when I get the chance and see if there's anything I can do. It's possible he has some personal issues going on we don't know about. But I promise you I will keep a close eye on him."

That seemed to help assuage her fears and he saw some of the distress lift from her pretty young face.

"Thank you, Professor Sinclair, for listening to me."

"Any time," Solo assured her. But his smile faded as soon as the girl moved away, and he left the library reflecting on what she'd told him.

Illya had the sharpest mind Solo had ever known, especially for details. Without a doubt something unnatural was happening to him. But what or who was causing it….and why?

He glanced at his watch. Soon it would be time to start getting ready for Dean Channing's dinner party. But he knew he'd have a hard time enjoying himself convinced even more than ever that Illya was in serious danger from a person or persons unknown.

He now fervently hoped that the surveillance camera the Russian planned to set up in his room that night would provide the answers to these disturbing questions.

* * *

After speaking to Napoleon, Illya had immediately returned to his room on the fourth floor of Webster House. There he set up a mini camera on top of the bookcase, using a small potted plant to hide it in and obscure its long trailing wire. This position would give him the best angle of the room.

Inside a secret compartment of one of his large suitcases were some of U.N.C.L.E.'s state-of-the-art electronics that would record what the night vision camera caught.

Illya threaded the camera wire through a hole hidden under a back hinge of the suitcase and connected it to the recording unit within the secret compartment. Setting the timer to record from midnight to 6 a.m., he closed the compartment again and set the suitcase on the floor alongside the bookcase, then draped some clothing loosely over its top.

That done, he went into his bathroom and took some of the meds prescribed for him by the Infirmary, then went to stretch out on his bed for a brief nap before dinner.

However, it was hours later when he awoke, but found that he was feeling more rested and that the nagging headache was nearly gone. But because it was nearing half past seven he had slept through the dinner hour at the school cafeteria, so he'd have to go off campus to find something more filling than what the snack machines in the student lounge would offer.

Deciding to freshen up before he went in search of food, Illya showered, shaved, and put on fresh clothing, then left Webster House to head over to a pizza parlor he knew of that was within walking distance of the campus.

He never made it back to his dorm room that night.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

 **Solo Meets New Friends**

* * *

Dean Channing was an attractive African-American woman in her late 50s with silvered hair and a warm speaking voice. She was a little rounded and of average height and had been Dean of Students at Prichard for almost ten years. As she had explained to her old acquaintance Alexander Waverly when she'd contacted him to ask for help from U.N.C.L.E., she told him that in the years she'd served as Dean she'd never known any of the students to suffer with this odd malady until recently.

Sylvia Channing was the only person who knew who Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin really were. She felt it wiser to keep to herself their true identities and purpose for being at the school.

She greeted Solo warmly when he and Eva Langstrom arrived for her birthday dinner. "How kind of you to come, Professor Sinclair," she'd told the agent. "However, I am afraid you will now learn exactly how old I really am," she laughed.

"Whatever that might be, I am sure I won't believe it," he replied smoothly, smiling back at her.

"Charmer!" the Dean chuckled. She smiled over at Eva. "You have good taste in men, my dear."

"I rather think so, too," the younger woman replied, smiling up at Solo as she wrapped her arm through his. She was dressed in a pale yellow pantsuit with large gold buttons decorating the front of the jacket. On her feet were stylish matching yellow pumps adorned with a rayon grosgrain (corded) bow. Her ebony hair was pulled back and pinned into a sleek chignon.

Napoleon was equally casual in light grey slacks and a sleeveless dark blue v-neck cardigan sweater vest worn over an open-collared striped shirt.

The Dean, who had met them in the foyer of her spacious home, pointed toward a room off to the left from where they could hear voices and laughter. "Please, go on in and mingle. Refreshments are set up on the bar, and dinner will be served soon. I see the last of my guests coming up the walkway."

They nodded at her and proceeded in the direction of the sounds of gaiety, entering a large room tastefully decorated in eclectic modern. At least a dozen people were already there, standing around in small groups, drinking and socializing.

"Eva!" a hearty male voice called out, and a short, stocky sandy-haired man in his early 60s wearing thick glasses came toward the couple. He held a glass of red wine in his right hand, which he quickly shifted to his left so he could shake hands with Solo as Eva Langstrom introduced them.

"Hello, Reggie," she said. "I'd like you to meet Nathan Sinclair. He's the new sub filling in for Roger Lewis's anthropology class." To Napoleon she added, "Nathan, this is Dr. Reginald Falk. He heads the Department of Classics here at Prichard. In other words, he's my boss, but he's also a good friend. He's one of the people I wanted you to meet tonight."

Napoleon gave the older man his most gracious smile and warm handshake.

Reginald Falk looked from Solo to Eva and smilingly said, "My dear girl, you didn't tell me how handsome this young man is. No wonder you've kept him to yourself."

At that Eva laughed merrily. "Well, he's really more my type than yours, darling. But I'm keeping an eye out for a live one for you as well."

"Just keep me in mind if you decide you don't want him anymore," Falk replied with a wink at them both. Solo actually felt somewhat nonplussed as the older man appreciably eyed him up and down, then turned and motioned toward a couple standing by a far wall. "Eva, Joyce and Jasper are over there. Go introduce Nathan will you. I see the Dean has come in with some new guests that I'd like to go meet and great."

Eva nodded and took Solo by the hand. "Come along, the boss has spoken," adding over her shoulder, "Sit with you at dinner, Reggie?"

"I'll save you both a place," he promised, moving off to intercept Sylvia Channing and the newcomers.

"He's such a sweetheart, really. I hope you weren't offended by his teasing," she said to Solo as they moved toward the couple Falk had pointed out.

"Not at all," Napoleon replied, which was true. It wasn't the first time he'd had another men show an interest in him; it just didn't usually happen when Solo's had a female companion on his arm. But he had immediately liked Reginald Falk and could tell he'd be an entertaining dinner companion.

"The truth is, Nathan…Reggie has been in mourning for over a year. He lost his life partner to a heart condition, and he's never quite gotten over it, despite his teasing with me about you. They were together for 30 years. That's just his way to cover up how lonely and depressed he's been, but he did mean it as a compliment to us both."

"I understand, and I'm truly sorry to hear of his loss," Solo said sincerely as they approached the couple standing by the wall.

"Hello, there, you two," Eva greeted them.

They turned at the sound of her voice and the woman smiled a bright welcome while the man looked friendly but seemed more reserved.

"Nathan, this is Joyce and Jasper Harrington. They are two of Prichard's finest. My friends, this is Nathan Sinclair, who is subbing for Roger Lewis. Joyce teaches ancient languages and Jasper is an Associate Professor of Antiquities. While you already know that my area of expertise is ancient Egypt, Jasper's is past civilizations, especially the Greco-Roman period. And like me, the Harrington's are also archaeologists."

Solo shook hands with the couple. "I'm happy to meet you both. You are all certainly involved in, uh, fascinating fields." He made it sound as if he actually meant that.

"Well, we think so," Joyce Harrington replied. "Professor Sinclair, as an anthropologist don't you agree that our fields are somewhat closely related then? Or at least overlaps to a certain degree? I have always found your own area of study most interesting."

"Please call me Nathan," Solo said. "Yes, well, I just wish my students felt that way about anthropology," he smiled.

"We can all empathize with that," Jaspar Harrinton commented. He was a tall man in his late 40s with thinning short-cropped brown hair. "Young people today are usually too caught up in the current trends in music and fashion or are more interested in protesting about social issues to see much value in studying the ancient past. But we do our best to show them there are parallels and relevancy between the past and the present, although few grasp or even care about that significance."

"But there are standouts," Eva interjected. "Like Illya Ivonovich, a recent transfer student. Nathan has him in his anthropology class as well. In fact," she said, turning to Solo, "Illya is in all of our classes. And we have had the same response to him. He's very bright and gifted. Quite special really."

"Oh, yes, very," Joyce Harrington nodded. She was tall like her husband and had straight dark brown hair cut to just past chin length. Her best feature was her large brown eyes in an otherwise average face. "It's a student like Illya who comes along now and then to make it all seem worthwhile. Such a fine young mind to guide and mold," she added, glancing over at her husband and Eva, who were both nodding in agreement.

Solo couldn't help but be vastly amused by this praise being heaped on his partner's brilliant blond head. If only they knew that Illya held degrees equal to any of theirs and that he was nearly a decade older than most of their students despite how youthful he looked.

"Yes, I've certainly come to appreciate young Mr. Ivonovich's unique talents as well," Solo smiled innocently. "However, have any of you noticed that in recent days he hasn't been...well...quite his usual attentive self in class?"

The Harrington's exchanged puzzled glances with Eva Langstrom.

"Hmm, perhaps he has seemed a little tired and stressed, but not surprising given it is end of term," Jasper Harrington said, looking thoughtful.

"The students are always stretched thin right now," his wife nodded.

"Nathan, I can tell you seem worried about him." Eva said. "But we are used to seeing the kids get like that at this time of year. And I know Illya is carrying an unusually heavy work load because he arrived so late in the semester. I'm sure he'll be fine when this is all over."

Not wanting to drop the subject, Solo began, "I've been hearing that a few of the students…." but he was interrupted by Reginald Falk coming up to join them.

"Come along, dear friends. Dinner is soon to be served and I am simply famished. I've caught glimpses of the dishes being served and it promises to be quite a spread!" He herded them into an adjoining dining room and pointed them to their seats.

Solo saw that there were well over twenty place settings, with Dr. Channing, the guest of honor, seated at the head of the massive table. Hired staff in crisp white uniforms hovered nearby, waiting to serve guests once they were seated.

The evening progressed smoothly and Solo was glad he'd agreed to come since the food, drink, and company were all excellent. Looking around at the gathering of celebrants, most of whom he had come to know during his brief tenure at the school, he decided he liked these people very much.

And for a few short hours he was able to let go of his constant worries about his younger partner, unaware that Illya had gone off campus and would not made it back to his dorm room later that night.


	9. Chapter 9

*****WARNING! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS ADULT SEXUAL CONTENT NOT SUITABLE FOR YOUNGER READERS*****

* * *

 **CHAPTER EIGHT**

 **Illya Also Makes A New Friend**

* * *

When Illya Kuryakin awoke on Saturday morning his surroundings were unfamiliar…until he remembered why he was there.

He turned his head and looked at the woman lying asleep next to him, admiring her dark curling blond hair spread out on the pillow and the still-youthful pretty face in repose. She wasn't Kellie Morgan or any of the other female students he'd met at Prichard who'd been showing an avid interest in him, but someone else closer to his own true age.

Her name was Anna Barzetti, the owner/manager of the pizza parlor Illya had gone to the night before. He'd seen her when he'd eaten there twice before, and quickly picked up on the fact she was attracted to him despite the fact she was 36 and believed him to be a junior student at Prichard. He had learned that she had continued to run the popular eatery after her late husband had passed away suddenly three years earlier from an aneurysm, and that they'd had no children and she lived alone now.

As it had neared closing time Anna had taken the initiative and invited Illya to go home with her, sensing that the striking fair-haired young man with the intriguing accent seemed strongly attracted to her as well.

Illya had gladly accepted, preferring to spend the night in the arms of a beautiful woman than sleep alone in his dorm room when he returned to the school.

Now awake, he glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost 10 a.m. Anna had mentioned that her assistant would open the pizza shop for lunch that day, and so he decided not to disturb her since they'd made love more than once during the night.

Totally naked, he quietly got out of the bed and padded into the bathroom. Still in the buff when he came out, he started searching for his discarded clothing, which was strewn about on the bedroom floor along with Anna's things.

"Please don't leave yet," he heard her rich husky voice say, and he looked over to find her awake and watching him. Her cornflower blue eyes were openly admiring his lean, tightly-muscled body as he'd been lithely moving about.

He looked over at her. "I'm sorry if I woke you, but I have to leave, Anna. It's later than I thought and I have things I have to do over at the school." As pleasurable as his night with her had been, he was anxious to review the footage from the camera he'd set up to record overnight.

"Is there, um, a pretty young girl waiting for you?" she asked tentatively.

He glanced back at her again as he picked up his underwear, saying, "No, nothing like that." Pulling on the briefs he added, "And I'm not the type of man to leave one desirable woman's warm bed to rush off to climb into another's."

She was pleased by what he'd said, and in the sunlit room she could clearly see how truly beautiful his blue eyes were...like the rest of him. "I would imagine the girls at school fall all over themselves to get your attention, though." She then admitted, "And I can understand why, although I feel like I've robbed the cradle bedding you, Illya…but I couldn't help wanting you despite being so much older than you."

He smiled at her, thinking how the irony of that would have also amused Napoleon given their previous conversations about the blond undercover agent and female college-age students.

"Trust me, Anna, I'm older, wiser, and more experienced than I look," he replied wryly, locating and pulling on his dark blue tee with its youth-oriented electric guitar decal and slogan of "Rock 'Til You Drop'". The shirt seemed incongruous to what he'd just said, but for this assignment he'd only brought with him the type and style of clothing that a college-aged kid would wear.

Glancing in the mirror on her dresser he combed his fingers through his mussed hair; then spotting his jeans laying crumpled by Anna's side of the bed he walked over there.

As he bent to pick them up she reached out and grabbed his free hand.

"I don't know about the 'older and wiser' part, sexy boy, but _experienced…_ oh, honey, that was truly mind-blowing last night. Come back to bed and 'rock me' once more until we both drop before you leave," she said huskily, throwing back the covers to reveal her voluptuous body fully exposed to his gaze in the bright daylight.

Although Illya was now wearing the tee and briefs she could see that his physical response was immediate, and he dropped the jeans as she pulled him down on top of her and raked her hands up through his long white-gold hair to draw his handsome face closer until their mouths fused together hungrily in a deep, passionate kiss.

* * *

As ti turned out, it wasn't until midday by the time Illya Kuryakin finally returned to Webster Hose, and for the first time in days he felt fully recharged and relaxed.

As he was heading up to his room he encountered a group of friends who invited him to come hang out with them in the student lounge, and he promised he'd join them there in a little while.

Once in his dorm room he decided to get a quick shower before reviewing the taping from the night before. This would also allow time for his hair to dry more completely before he joined his friends. Anna had offered to let him shower at her home but he'd declined because he didn't have his personal things with him and would need to change his clothing anyway.

But before he'd left her he'd promised to return very soon, perhaps even by the following weekend if he could get away, adding with a charming smile "Next time I'll be better prepared to stay longer, and perhaps we can shower or bathe together and scrub each other's backs." She'd laughed, liking the idea of that and pleased that he wanted to see her again so soon. She'd then given him the numbers to her home and the pizza shop and had driven him back to the school and dropped him off with one last parting kiss and a promise from him that he'd be in touch with her soon.

Illya now sat at his study desk to review the footage, fast forwarding through the hours of video tape; but nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Perhaps Napoleon was wrong and whatever has been happening to him didn't occur while he slept. But he erased the reel and reset the hidden camera to record again that night.

He decided against contacting his partner to give him a report just yet, knowing the senior agent was with Eva Langstrom. Besides, Solo would understand that if he hadn't heard from Illya by now then there was likely nothing of interest to report.

After one last stop in the bathroom to comb out his hair, he headed downstairs to meet up with his friends.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER NINE**

 **Illya Disappears Down The Brain Drain**

* * *

In class on Monday Solo noticed that Illya seemed more focused and alert. The senior agent was now aware that nothing had shown up on the surveillance camera tapings over the weekend, including Sunday night.

Nor would anything happen later that Monday evening; so therefore both agents decided the cause of Illya's former malaise must be found elsewhere, and the Russian discontinued the taping.

However, by Wednesday Illya was complaining about the headache, fatigue, and intense dreaming again, and after class Solo told him to set up the camera surveillance once more.

"I know we decided the source of these issues didn't occur while you slept but you've also been feeling better until now."

Illya agreed—and this time what the camera caught was shocking and troubling to not only both agents, but to Mr. Waverly as well when Solo reported what they'd discovered.

* * *

"It is obvious the vapor or mist emitted into the room after Mr. Kuryakin is asleep acts as a tranquilizer to ensure he doesn't awaken when they come for him," Waverly commented thoughtfully through the connection on Solo's communicator.

The senior agent was sitting out in his rental car in the teacher's parking lot, and several yards away a group of students ambled across the campus green, laughing and talking together. He held the communicator a little lower as he responded.

"I thought I'd noticed a medicinal odor the last time I was in Illya's dorm room and found him deep asleep. Now I understand he had been drugged."

"And Mr. Kuryakin still cannot find an entrance in that closet where the men are coming through?" Waverly asked.

"So far he hasn't had any luck in locating it or a release latch. It's a very old mansion and now I'm beginning to suspect it holds many hidden secrets."

Solo heard Waverly sigh, and when the U.N.C.L.E. chief spoke again his voice was heavy with concern. "Do you feel it advisable to have Mr. Kuryakin's room changed while you continue with the investigation?"

"No, Sir, Illya and I discussed that. He knows there's risk, perhaps even danger, involved but he also feels as I do that we finally have a clue to what's been happening to some of these kids. Now we just need to find out who's behind it and why. If Illya changes his room that might frighten them off or they'll turn their attention back to another student."

"Very well. What is your next course of action."

Solo's expression grew grim. "Stand watch with Illya in his room tonight in the hope of catching his abductors in the act."

* * *

It was half past midnight when Napoleon Solo reached Illya's dorm room. The big house had quieted down due to the strict 10 p.m. curfew imposed upon Prichard students on school nights. Dean Channing had arranged for Solo, posing as a resident Prichard professor, to tour Webster House to ensure curfew was being observed by the students. School administration and teachers all did a stint of curfew monitoring at all the dorm housing on campus, and thus Solo's presence, as Professor Nathan Sinclair would not have seemed odd or unusual to any student who might have seen him roaming throughout the halls of Webster House that night.

He tapped softly at Illya's door and when there was no answer, Solo tried the door handle, finding it locked. He tapped again, but still there was no response, and immediately he knew something wasn't quite right since Illya had known to expect him.

Glancing around to be sure the hallway was empty, once again he proceeded to pick open the door lock.

When he entered the room he picked up on the same medicinal smell he'd noticed once before, but this time its odor was much stronger—and his heart began to race with fear for his partner. There was no sign of Illya although the small desk light was on and the Russian's bed covers were in disarray. In the previous night's taping the time lapse on the recording indicated that the intruders hadn't entered Illya's room until after 2 a.m. Why had they come so much earlier?

As a precaution Solo checked the bathroom, also finding it empty, and then walked over to the closet and turned on its light.

Inside it Illya's clothing hung neatly and there was no indication of any thing out of the ordinary. Just as Illya had also done, the senior agent checked along the side and back walls of the cubicle for a trigger mechanism that might open a secret doorway or panel, but also found nothing.

Momentarily frustrated, he stepped back out of the closet ….and for the first time saw the blood on Illya's pillow, which had been partly covered by the rumpled bedding.

With trepidation Solo went over and picked up the pillow. The stain was large and still fresh, and the agent knew without a doubt that not only had the younger agent been abducted again—but this time something had gone terribly wrong.

He quickly checked to verify if Illya had set up the camera to record that night, but he hadn't, likely because he expected Solo to be there with him if and when the intruders returned.

With a heavy heart he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out his communicator.

"Open Channel D. Solo here, Priority One," he ordered.

Almost immediately the familiar voice of Alexander Waverly, responded. Solo had long ceased to marvel that no matter what time it was, day or night, or what country or time zone he was in, the head of U.N.C.L.E. New York almost always seemed to be available.

"Yes, Mr. Solo?" Waverly intoned calmly.

"Sir, as you know I decided to do a vigil in Illya's room tonight and when I got here, he wasn't in it, although he knew to expect me." He took a steadying breath: "I noticed that strange medicinal odor when I came in, and there's evidence of a struggle…but I think something went wrong when the abductors tried to take him." His voice trailed off as he looked over at the bloodied pillowcase.

"What do you mean, Mr. Solo?" Waverly asked sharply.

"I think Illya must have somehow still been aware enough to realize what was happening and he tried to put up a fight…and in attempting to subdue him the kidnappers may have accidentally killed him. There's, ah, blood on his pillow, Sir…a lot of blood…perhaps from a severe head wound."

A long empty silence followed Solo's statement, and when Waverly spoke again he sounded tired and gravely troubled.

"Mr. Solo, the blood on the pillow might indeed indicate Mr. Kuryakin has come to serious harm or worse, but to what degree has yet to be fully determined. Whoever has been taking him obviously has use for him, and to kill him would likely not be part of their plan. They've not seriously harmed any of the other students at this point, and I think you must operate under the assumption Mr. Kuryakin is still alive even if he has been injured during a confrontation with his abductors."

"I know, Sir. I just thought I should apprise you of the possibility that an agent may be down," Solo murmured, still staring at the pillow.

"Continue trying to determine what has happened to that young man and where he's been taken, and report back to me any further findings."

"Of course, Sir," Solo replied, closing off the communication and slipping the pen-like device back into his jacket pocket.

With renewed determination he stood up and walked back toward the closet.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER TEN**

 **Fleeting Impressions**

* * *

Illya Kuryakin had a vague sense of being carried a considerable distance then placed upon something cold and hard. Around him came a swirl of disembodied voices and shadow figures that barely penetrated his clouded consciousness. His head hurt like hell and his body felt leaden, almost paralyzed.

" _Why is this towel wrapped around his head and face?" (Long pause) "_ Oh, _my god, what has happened?! Where did all this blood come from?!"_ a distraught far away voice demanded.

Another voice, sounding to Illya's numbed brain as if its owner was speaking under water, replied defensively, " _It was an accident. The kid wasn't fully under. He was lying on the floor by his bed, and when we tried to pick him up somehow he realized we were there…and the little candy-ass tried to put up a fight and get away from us. But he fell backward onto the bed and cracked his head open on the edge of the headboard."_

Illya wanted the annoying voices to go away so he could sleep, but somehow they persisted in intruding into his faded awareness.

" _Son of a bitch! If he's suffered a concussion, or worse, all of our plans are ruined_!" someone replied angrily. Fingers pried open each of his eyelids as a blurred shape hovered over him.

" _I told you we shouldn't have started so early tonight! We should have waited to finish the experiments until after you returned,_ " another voice said. " _There wasn't enough time for him to be fully drugged_ , _and now look what's happened!_ "

" _How bad is the wound_?" someone else asked nervously. " _Oh, god, he looks_ _almost comatose_."

Illya vaguely felt his head being turned to one side and more fingers exploring his blood-matted hair.

" _It's only a scalp wound and those bleed like the dickens. There's also a large knot, but I think it looks worse than it is. Don't forget he is also partially drugged, which is why he seems unresponsive right now_." (Pause) " _I think we should proceed. If it doesn't work, we'll just stop and return him to his room_. "

" _Very well. Then let's get him cleaned up and undressed_."

" _I don't like this. He could be seriously hurt, more than we can tell,"_ a new voice interjected, sounding frightened. " _And how can such an injury ever be explained! Maybe we should just stop now and end the experiments before it gets beyond our control and we seriously hurt this boy_."

" _Good god, we've already hurt him! I agree, we must stop_."

" _We can't turn back at this juncture! Too much is at stake. You both know that. And this brilliant boy is our best hope, the key to everything_! "

" _And if what we do tonight permanently damages him, perhaps even kills him?! We won't just be kidnappers, but murderers as well!"_

" _Stop being so melodramatic. Nothing we've done so far with the others has left them permanently harmed. When we are finished with the boy_ _tonight we will think of something to explain his head wound. Perhaps we can set it up to look like he was sleepwalking and fell against the desk in his room. Now let's proceed. It's growing late and I have to catch that early flight in a few hours for the_ _Zurich conference. You all know I will announce our preliminary findings depending on what happens_ _tonight."_

Illya felt someone turn his right wrist over, followed by the barest sensation of a needle pricking his skin. A rapidly spreading warmth infused his entire system and within moments he had spiraled into full oblivion.

And thus he was unaware of his hair and face being quickly cleaned of the blood before he was fully stripped of all his clothing—and then taken to the place of his worst nightmares.

* * *

 _Coming up in the posting this weekend: the final chapters and the answers, to "The College Brain Drain Affair"_

 _Napoleon searches desperately for clues to where Illya has been taken—and what he uncovers is a long-buried secret that, if revealed to the entire world, will revise human history and affect mankind's destiny...and not necessarily for the better._


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

 **Solo Plays Sleuth**

* * *

Once again Napoleon Solo methodically searched Illya's closet thoroughly. He had removed all of the younger agent's clothing and shoes and stacked them on the armchair in the main room, then had gone back to the closet, feeling carefully along the side and back walls, ceiling and floor, for a trigger mechanism that would open a hidden door or panel. He knew that Illya's abductors had taken him through this way and thus they certainly had the ability to access the room from the other side. Was it possible there was no trigger mechanism on _this_ side? Illya had also searched and not been able to find one.

Solo stood studying the now-empty cubicle. He once had read somewhere that in days past large mansions like Webster House had interior hidden staircases or stairwells designed primarily for the household servants to come and go about their duties without disturbing or interacting directly with the family.

A chambermaid whose duty was to make the beds or empty the chamber pots would use such hidden stairways to enter a bedroom without using the main halls or staircase. Often the servants' access was through a hidden door or panel since in days long past closets as such did not exist. Instead people used large pieces of furniture called wardrobes or chifferobes to hang and store their clothing.

Solo guessed that like the modern bathrooms each dorm room now had, these walk-in closets had been built decades later; and in some if not all cases, built in front of the hidden servant access ways which had long fallen into disuse and later forgotten…at least until now. So whoever was behind this had likely had the opening latch or mechanism on this side of the closet removed so students would not accidentally come across the hidden portals.

His instincts told him that the kidnappers had taken Illya down through the bowels of the house to the basement level.

Hoping to find the answer to this puzzle there, he decided to head down to the cellar of the old mansion.

* * *

After Napoleon reached the ground level of the house he quickly discovered that the elevators did not descend any further than the main floor. But there had to be some way to access the cellar below, and after another search he discovered a set of stairs leading off from the enormous kitchen down into the basement.

He flipped on the lights and went down to the cellar, finding himself in a vast area lined with metal shelving upon which rested numerous crates and boxes. There was an adjoining room, and scattered around in there were chairs, portable chalkboards, excess dorm furnishings and other items not in use.

Realizing the original basement under the mansion house was now a series of storerooms, Solo reasoned out the probable location of the hidden staircase in conjunction with Illya's room. If his guess was right, then a small storage room on the back side of the boiler room could offer hope of discovering access to that hidden stairwell.

Solo turned on the light in there and entered the room, noting that it seemed less cluttered than the others had. He walked along the walls and scrutinized them carefully, looking for a hair-thin crack that might be a hidden door.

His sharp eyes soon found what he was looking for, and with deft fingers he traced the outline of the hidden door, pressing here and there to see if he could trigger the mechanism. Suddenly he heard a faint click and the door swung open silently.

"Bingo!" he muttered with grim satisfaction.

Solo used a small chair to keep the hidden doorway propped open, then cautiously entered into the narrow passageway on the other side, and found to his surprise that this was lit by small, somewhat dim lights spaced high on the walls.

As he glanced around he noticed that the air in the passageway smelled a little musty and "old", much like a museum or antique shop might, which wasn't surprising given the age of Webster House. To his left were, as he had suspected, the narrow servants' stairs leading to the upper regions of the enormous house.

But the old structure apparently held another secret as well: on Solo's right and down at the end of the short narrow corridor he was standing in he could see another set of stairs leading downward. He knew intuitively that was the way the abductors had gone with Illya.

After descending these stairs he reached what was another dimly-lit corridor that receded into the distance. Pulling his U.N.C.L.E. Special and fitting it with a silencer, the agent followed this passageway until he became aware of the sound of men's voices coming from a lighted doorway up ahead on the right. He carefully edged closer toward the voices, trying to determine who was talking and how many people were there. Could this be where Illya was?

Peaking cautiously into the room beyond, which had once been used as an old root cellar, Solo saw two men sitting at a large metal table discussing the card game they were playing. The U.N.C.L.E. agent recognized both of them as janitors he'd seen around the school grounds; but now the two men were dressed in the same dark clothing worn by the intruders on Illya's video tape, and Solo knew at once that they were the ones who had taken his partner.

The U.N.C.L.E. agent stepped quickly inside the room, saying n a chill tone, "Hello, boys."

Startled by Solo's sudden appearance, the surprised men looked up, their faces mirroring their fear and confusion as they recognized who had spoken and spotted the lethal-looking gun pointed at them. The thinner of the two janitors started to stand, saying, "Professor Sinclair! What the hell are you doing here and why do you have…."

Solo shot him with a dart from the gun before the man could finish speaking, and the janitor's eyes rolled back in his head and he toppled noisily to the floor.

It was then Napoleon saw the blood stains near where he had landed.

Not realizing that *Professor Sinclair* had merely shot his friend with a sleeping dart that would keep the man out of commission for a good while, the chubbier janitor quavered, "Don't…don't kill me, please!"

Solo's dark brown eyes glittered dangerously as he said in a deadly voice, "Now I want to know…what did you two do with Illya, the blond young man you abducted tonight? And how badly was he hurt?"

The janitor swallowed hard and stammered, "I…I don't know what you mean."

Solo fired his Special at the wall behind him, deliberately narrowly missing the man's head, and the _phfffft_ sound of the silencer's discharge and its missile's subsequent impact in the wall made the frightened man jump—and he threw up his hands in terror.

"Okay! Okay! Don't shoot me! I'll tell you!"

"I'm listening," Solo grated, moving closer to his bug-eyed quarry, causing the other man to swallow hard.

"We…uhhhh….we went to get him and the kid woke up. He wasn't fully doped and he tried to get away from us but fell backward and cracked his head open on the edge of the headboard and knocked himself out. But he's, he's alive…I swear it!"

"Where is he now?" Solo demanded, eyes narrowing ominously.

"He's on another level, further down."

"Get up! You're going to give me a personal guided tour," the U.N.C.L.E. agent snarled, motioning with his gun.

The terrified janitor scrambled to his feet and nervously made his way to the door with Solo close on his heels, the gun pointed at his back.

The two men continued on down the narrow corridor until they came to a set of wooden steps which led down into another level, as the janitor had said. As they descended Solo could tell that the air down here was growing colder and smelled of dank earth and decay. He quickly saw that the reason for this was that they were now standing in an old tunnel somewhere deep underground.

Lit oil lamps were hanging from hooks spaced several feed apart along the tunnel, and by their flickering glow the agent could see that the walls were moist and had been roughly carved out of rock and earth.

"Who created all of this and why?" Solo asked.

"This used to be part of an underground railroad network," the janitor replied over his shoulder. "You know, for escaping slaves from the South during the Civil War."

"Where will it lead out to?" Solo asked.

The janitor pointed up ahead. "It ends just down there in a large cavern, around the next bend. That's where the kid is. They…they have him."

"They? _Who_ has him and why?"

Suddenly panicking, the janitor bolted and started running down the tunnel, but before he could get more than a few feet the U.N.C.L.E. agent shot him with a dart in order to prevent him from warning his c-conspirators.

The big man staggered and his knees buckled under him as he lost consciousness, but Solo was suddenly there and caught him before he could hit the earthen floor. He then dragged him back a few feet and laid him against the shadowed wall.

He then headed back down the passage, and coming to its end crept forward toward a narrow opening carved out of the rock where the tunnel ended. He could now make out the soft murmur of voices.

With gun still drawn Solo cautiously peered past the opening to what lay beyond—and whatever he had expected to find or see… it certainly wasn't this.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

 **A Jaw-Dropping Discovery**

* * *

Visually, Napoleon Solo's astounded gaze was impacted by several mind-boggling things at once.

The rock portal had opened into a large cavern with high walls that rose into what appeared to be a naturally-formed dome ceiling. Wall braziers were hung and lit all along its walls, casting flickering shadows.

In the center of the cave was a seven-foot-long , four-foot-high rectangular object, or cubicle, made of a material that resembled frosted glass yet at the same time was oddly transparent. It rested on a low alabaster marble altar, and inside the receptacle was a motionless figure with flaxen hair that Solo recognized at once.

It was Illya, unclothed and lying on his back in what he had described to Napoleon as the large "coffin" which had been part of his recurring nightmares.

Set around the crystalline *coffin* were three five-foot tall white marble pedestals upon which rested an over-sized crystal skull, their heads tilted back and upward toward the cavern ceiling so that their supporting jaws gaped open in macabre grins. A pedestal and skull was set at the head of the glass receptacle in which Illya lay, the other two pedestals and skulls were placed at the foot of the container but spaced several feet apart—thus creating a perfect horizontal triangle, or horizontal pyramid, configuration.

Standing a few feet away from the glass coffin holding Illya were four white-robed-and-hooded figures with golden half masks covering the upper portion of their faces. They were all staring up at the ceiling of the cavern with open-mouthed wonder, unconsciously mirroring the gaping skulls.

For a few long moments Solo also watched with awe as from the eye sockets of those crystal skulls shone brilliant laser-like beams that merged overhead to create a kaleidoscope of giant images that were projected upon the smooth upper walls and ceiling of the cavern. The sharp images were ever-changing, undulating…and Solo had glimpses of exotic places, enormous structures, strange flying objects, cataclysmic events and war, and even a strange race of people whose culture, appearance, and clothing style he could not identify. This sort of thing would have been more in Illya's line of interest and expertise, he knew, if he'd been aware of what was happening above him.

 _Illya._ Solo forced his transfixed gaze away from the mesmerizing ceiling images and stared with apprehension at his inert partner, instinctively understanding that somehow the young Russian was triggering the images being projected by the skulls by serving as a catalyst or channel for what was happening overhead. This was why he'd been so debilitated in recent days and had been suffering with the migraines and nightmares.

As compelling yet eerie as this incredible scene was, Solo knew he had to get Illya out of that thing right now before irreparable harm was done to him.

Still holding the U.N.C.L.E. Special, Napoleon Solo walked boldly into view and shouted, "Okay, the magic light show is over!"

* * *

Startled just as the janitors had been at his unexpected appearance, the robed group staring up at the ceiling images turned as one at the sound of Solo's sharp command.

"That's my friend you have in there and I want him released _NOW_!" Solo barked, brandishing his weapon at them.

"Professor Sinclair?" one of the robed figures, a short stocky male, responded in a surprised tone. He moved away from the others and would have approached Solo but the U.N.C.L.E. agent warned him back by shaking his dark head and raising the gun a little higher.

The man stopped where he was and said calmly, "Professor Sinclair, there's no need to threaten us with a weapon. We are not trying to hurt the young man… rather, as you can see, he has proven to be the pivotal key to unlocking ….."

Solo cut him off. "Illya suffered a serious head injury tonight when he was forcibly taken by your thugs. I'd say he's already been harmed, and I want him out of that… _thing_ ," Solo snarled, edging around the foursome so he could get closer to the receptacle where his partner lay.

The man who had spoken, apparently the leader and so far the only one who had moved or said anything, made a sharp motion with his right hand and said over his shoulder, "Turn the skulls."

The other three robed figures swiftly complied, each moving to one of the pedestals and turning its crystal skull until it faced away from Illya and the glass coffin. Immediately the laser-lights from their eye sockets ceased, and the colorful kaleidoscope of images projected overhead faded and disappeared.

"Now move away from him," Solo ordered, again brandishing the gun. The four masked people obeyed and drew back, and the U.N.C.L.E. agent stepped closer to the open receptacle and stared down at Illya.

The younger agent lay on his back and he was fully unclothed except for a piece of silver mesh-like material draped over his loins. The cloth appeared to be made of a metallic substance that looked unfamiliar to Solo.

He could see signs of the blood and scalp swelling underneath Illya's crown of pale hair, indications of the head injury. The long lashes of his closed eyes cast delicate shadows on his colorless cheeks in the light cast by the wall braziers; and indeed he looked ethereally beautiful, as if he were carved from the same substance as the alabaster altar and pillars holding the skulls. To Solo's stricken gaze, the youthful Russian appeared frozen and lifeless. Had he arrived too late?

Even just as bizarre was how Illya was lying. His arms were criss-crossed at the wrists on his bare breast, the hands open with palms facing downward. Solo had once been to the Cairo Museum as part of an assignment, and Illya's unnatural repose immediately made him think of the death positioning of some of the ancient royal mummies he'd seen there displayed in glass cases. The eerie parallels weren't lost on Solo and he could feel the hairs on his neck stand up.

Still keeping an eye on the robed figures watching him in fearful silence, Napoleon tentatively reached down into the glass coffin, or case,, and touched his partner's bare shoulder. Solo was dismayed at how unnaturally cold and rigid Illya's skin felt and startled by the strange sensation that ran up his fingertips as he touched his friend, causing him to hastily pull his hand back. It was as if he had touched a live electrical current and not human flesh.

"Don't try to awaken him!" the tallest member of the group warned. "It takes a little while for the effects to wear off once we stop. His body temperature and heart rate have to return to normal at their own pace."

"What is this thing he is lying in?" Solo asked tersely, looking around at all of them. "And what exactly have you done to him? Why is he dressed, or undressed, like this?" The expression in his dark gaze was menacing and angry.

A slender figure moved forward and held out a hand almost beseechingly toward the enraged agent. "Nathan…let us explain, please."

Solo literally did a double take as he recognized the voice. "Eva?!" he said, turning to face her fully yet still standing protectively over Illya. He raised the gun higher as full realization dawned. "All right, folks, the costume party is over. Take off the masks, all of you," he ordered.

Eva Langstrom reached up and pulled hers off, the expression on her beautiful face a mixture of sorrow and fear. One by one the others followed suit.

"Well, well….I see I'm among friends and colleagues," Solo commented with a hard edge to his voice as he recognized Reginald Falk and Jasper and Joyce Harrington.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

 **The Conspirators Behind The Brain Drain**

* * *

Eva stepped a little closer to Solo, her gaze going from him to Illya's motionless form. "Nathan, you must try to understand…we have discovered and now validated one of the greatest historical and archaeological finds in human history! We could not have done this without Illya."

He didn't respond at first because his thoughts were in such turmoil, ranging from disbelief to disgust and rage as he gazed at the four people before him he'd come to think so highly of. And Eva's involvement in this bizarre and dangerous affair was, for him personally the worst betrayal of all.

He looked away from her and said in a tight voice to Jasper Harrington, "You mentioned that Illya has to come out of this frozen state naturally. How long will that take?"

"It fluctuates, but usually several minutes...although tonight may take longer due to, uh, his head injury," Harrington replied uneasily."When he does he can be returned to his room, although he won't actually awaken until morning."

Seeing Solo's gaze darken, Reginald Falk hastiily spoke up: "To answer your earlier questions, Professor Sinclair, the boy is lying in a pure crystal sarcophagus. It was unearthed when the four of us were working together on an archaeological dig last summer on Bimini Island. We believe a sarcophagus similar to this was designed to be placed in what is now the empty crypt chamber of the Great Pyramid of Giza by the original builders in order to channel enormous energy."

Deciding to keep them talking and where they were until Illya revived and it was safe to move him, Napoleon said, "I thought the Great Pyramid was built by some vainglorious pharaoh to be used as his tombs?" He was again recalling his tour of the Cairo Museum.

Reginald Falk emphatically shook his head. "No, that's what the Egyptian authorities like to tell gullible tourists, but in truth geological evidence suggest it and the Sphinx to be much older. Some believe they were built over 10,000 years ago, when that part of Egypt was tropical. And we are among those who also believe that the Great Pyramid was designed by an advanced technological race of humanoids known as Atlanteans."

"Atlanteans? You think that thing Illya is lying in and those skulls came from… _Atlantis_?!" Solo scoffed.

Joyce Harrington exchanged glances with the others then answered him.

"We have been trying to prove that for a few months now. And among those incredible images projected overhead minutes ago were enormous pyramid structures similar to the one at Giza, which has now helped confirm many of our long-held theories."

"Yes!" Eva exclaimed, her green eyes lit up with excitement. "Nathan, the ancient Atlanteans were the most sophisticated race and culture ever to inhabit this planet. They were far superior to us in every way. Some believe they came from another solar system to form a colony here. Myths and legends abound with stories of their use of great crystals to move objects, communicate and travel long distances, control natural forces like the weather…even of their using crystals skulls like these to record their knowledge, literature, history, perhaps even their own demise. That's why we needed someone like Illya so badly, someone young with a superior mind who could withstand and unleash the tremendous power of the skulls and the sarcophagus!" She looked from Solo to the motionless Kuryakin. "There was truly little danger to him….just some short term side effects, which will pass."

"I think you are wrong, Eva" Solo replied glancing down at his unconscious partner. "I think it would have killed or permanently damaged him if I hadn't stopped you tonight."

Reginald Falk spoke up again. "I disagree, Professor Sinclair, even though I know the boy has been suffering the effects of the sessions, just as the other students we tested did. But they have all recovered quickly."

"But why focus solely on Illya lately? Why is he so important to you more than the others?"

"Because that boy is the first of these brilliant young people to actually have make it work fully and sustain the projected images for any length of time! You saw that for yourself just minutes ago!" Falk responded.

"What do you mean he made it work? How?" Solo frowned.

They all looked over at the inert form in the sarcophagus, and Jasper Harrington explained: "With the drugs we've given Illya his brain waves are cleared of the surplus neuron activity and static interference of both the waking and sleeping state. When he is in that more neutral and suggestive state, the crystal sarcophagus and the skulls somehow work together to enhance Illya's psychic and physical link to them and he becomes, in essence, a human conduit."

It all began to fall into place for Solo. "Aaah, I see. The four of you thought to prove those theories by abducting some of the most brilliant of Prichard's students to use as guinea pigs," he said, thinking back to those images projected upon the cavern wall from the crystal skulls and Illya's pivotal albeit unknowing part in all of this. "But why use these kids? Why not use yourselves to..trigger those skulls to do what I saw?"

Eva spoke: "Initially we each did try, Nathan, but with no success. You see, legends speak of the highly revered _Wisdom Keepers_ of the sacred crystal skulls who were not aged seers as that name might imply, but were in actuality purported to be young people, even youths. They and their brilliant advanced minds were the true power source. This is how the ancients triggered the crystals to both record and project images like those you saw tonight. Each skull is a fantastic historical archive, or repository, of a magnificent legendary civilization, which Illya has now helped us prove did actually exist!"

Solo looked at her and the others with derision. "So because of some obscure legends you four decided to drug and abduct these kids and force them to participate in a dangerous experiment without their conscious will," he summed up sarcastically, glancing down at Illya again. "I only hope I stopped you in time before you damaged him permanently."

Reginald Falk looked around at the others "Despite what you think, we're not criminals, Professor Sinclair, merely academics and dedicated scientists who have stumbled upon something profound and world-changing. No harm was ever intended to these young people."

"We were simply doing controlled, scientific experiments, yet you act as if we are monsters and murderers," Evan said softly.

"You all will be if Illya doesn't survive this," Napoleon replied bitterly, flashing a look of pure contempt at her.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

 **Ending The Masquerade**

* * *

Once more Solo touched Illya's shoulder, his hardened expression softening a little as it mirrored his obvious relief that the younger agent's skin now felt less cold and rigid to the touch and that the strange electric current sensation had abated.

"You see, Professor Sincllair, the boy is already coming out of it," Reginald Falk said. "In a few hours he'll awaken with nothing more than a bad headache and feeling as if he hadn't slept well."

Knowing he needed to keep them talking a little longer until Illya began to more fully stabilized he replied evenly, "You still haven't told me why he is undressed and posed like this, or for that matter why all of you were done up in those gimmicky robes and masks."

The four academics exchanged embarrassed glances, and then Joyce Harrington said, "The silvered mesh cloth was found in an urn stored with the skulls and sarcophagus. On the urn was a simple cartouche engraving showing the cloth placed over the lower portion of the subject's body, and we deduced its purpose. The material is unknown to us but apparently it serves to protect the reproductive organs, much like a lead shield or apron does from x-rays. We also discovered that materials used in modern clothing seem to dampen the transference of energies and the images projected. So the subject in the sarcophagus has to be nude, except for the protective loin covering."

"Nathan, the robes and the way Illya is lying were my suggestion," Eva added. "I always suspected that ancient Egyptian burial rituals was originally introduced by a culture vastly older than theirs. It is thought that when Atlantis was destroyed, survivors migrated to different parts of the world, taking their customs and rituals with them. Anyway, as silly as it may have looked to you, it's no different for us to try and recreate an ancient religious ritual than it is for Civil War reenactors to dress in uniforms of Grey or Blue, or for participants in Medieval festivals to dress in twelfth century costume and armour and engage in jousts or sword play."

Although now privately thinking they were all not only eccentric, but totally nuts, Solo knew he had nothing to fear from these misguided fanatics, and he lowered his gun a little. "Whatever you discovered, none of this gives you the moral right to kidnap and use these kids as you have."

"We just needed to keep what we were doing a secret until we were sure of what we truly had here," Reginald Falk responded defensively. "I was planning to make an announcement at the von Däniken conference in Zurich which I will be leaving for in a few hours. This is why we needed this young man tonight to be able to replicate the and sustain the success of the experiment one more time. Our discovery and findings will bring world acclaim to Prichard!"

"What you really mean is that it will bring world acclaim and financial gain to _each of you_ ," Solo retorted pointedly. He shook his head. "Well, in any case,Dr. Falk, you won't be attending that conference or any others for quite awhile, I'm afraid." As he was speaking out of the corner of his eye he saw Illya's body shiver a little, although he was apparently still in a deep state of unconsciousness.

"Wha...what do you mean?" the older man asked apprehensively. "And why exactly are you carrying a weapon like that?"

Solo gave the four uneasy academics a sardonic smile. "Now it's time I share my own little secret with you." He pulled out his communicator and turned it on, its booster signal clear despite the fact he was standing in an underground cavern.

"Open Channel E. This is Agent Solo. Are the teams here and on stand-by?" After Solo had spoken to Waverly about Illya's abduction and the bloody pillow, the Section Chief had immediately dispatched from U.N.C.L.E. resources in Pittsburgh a medical team along with a special forces helicopters.

"Yes, Agent Solo. The choppers are now in the vicinity of the school awaiting further orders from you," came the reply.

"Send in the medical and security teams _stat_! An agent has a head wound and is in an unresponsive state and will need to be medivaced immediately. I also have four suspects in custody. They are not armed. I'm somewhere underground near Prichard College in a large cavern and you can track this signal to my exact location. Tell the teams to follow these coordinates using the tunnel leading from a hidden entrance in a storeroom behind the basement boiler room. I left the door ajar and a light on for them."

"We have pinpointed your location, Mr. Solo. The stand-by teams are on their way now and will be there within minutes."

Seeing the confused and frightened expressions on the faces of his audience, Napoleon informed them, "You four haven't been the only ones doing some role paying lately. My real name is Napoleon Solo and my partner and I…." and he motioned toward Illya, "…are agents for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. Illya and I came here undercover after Dean Channing contacted our organization to ask for help in finding out what was happening to some of her more brainy students here at Prichard."

"And that was a quest for a knowledge far superior to ours," Eva tried to explain again despite her shock and alarm at Solo's revelations. "It was intended for the betterment of the world, can't you understand that? Not to mention how this incredible find will revise human history!"

"Really?" Solo mocked. "From what I saw when I came in, for all their great technological advancement the Atlanteans or whoever they were still wound up annihilating themselves. We don't need their superior knowledge or advanced technology to hasten our own self-destruction."

"But we can learn from them…perhaps avert such a disaster from happening again!" Reggie Falk protested.

"Dr. Falk, I never would have taken you for a naive man until tonight," Solo told him. "Human history ALWAYS repeats itself in some fatal fashion despite our so-called best and noble intentions. I don't have to be a bona fide anthropologist to see that. And whether human or alien, apparently the Atlanteans never learned from their mistakes and hubris either."


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

 **On The Slow Road to Recovery**

* * *

When Napoleon Solo entered Illya's private room at the hospital he was amused to find his partner's bed surrounded by a half dozen giggling young girls called Candy Stripers.

Candy Stripers were often junior or senior high school students who volunteered as aides at hospitals during after school hours, on weekends, and during their summer break. The name *Candy Striper* came from the white-and-red striped jumpers or aprons these young volunteers wore which resembled candy canes, thus making them easily identifiable as to their service role within the hospital environment.

"Illya, are you sure there's nothing you need right now or we can do for you," a 16-year-old blond girl with teased hair was asking as she leaned over and tucked the blanket around the entrapped Russian.

"No, no…I am fine…truly. Thank you, but you don't need to do that and…."

"Illya, are you hungry? I could get you some chocolate pudding or maybe some apple pie." This from a plump brunette of about 15.

"Maybe he'd rather have a sandwich," another blond teenager suggested.

"That's kind of you all but no thank you, I'm not hungry," their hapless patient protested weakly.

"Illya, would…would you care if I touched your hair? It's just so amazing!" the youngest of them asked, eagerly reaching a hand out to touch his blond head before he could dissuade her. Solo guessed she was about 14. "Ooooh, it's so soft," she marveled as she fingered the thick strands. That inspired the other girls to all try to touch and stroke his hair, too.

The senior agent could not hold back a grin as he saw the trapped and tortured expression on his friend's face, and when the Russian spotted his new visitor his blue eyes shot Solo a desperate _I-could –really-use-some-help-here_ look.

Solo's grin deepened and then he cleared his throat and said, "Ah, how nice it is to find that my friend is being well looked after by such lovely young ladies." All the girls turned to see who had spoken, and the handsome senior agent smiled charmingly at them as he moved to Illya's bedside and gently began herding the group of infatuated teens away from his partner. "But the poor lad needs to rest now and I will be happy to stay with him for awhile. I promise you that I will buzz if he needs anything."

Disappointment registering on their faces as they realized they had to leave, the girls called out goodbyes to Illya as Solo smoothly ushered them out of the room and then closed the door.

"Thank you!" the Russian exclaimed in grateful relief. "I thought they were going to mother me to death."

"Well, as I've told you before, it's that boyish charm and golden locks of yours that gets 'em every time," Solo laughed, seating himself by the bedside.

Normally Illya would have responded to Solo's teasing with a sarcastic retort or flash of annoyance, but he remained silent.

Deciding he probably should drop the subject of his partner's underage fan club, Solo scrutinized him more closely. The younger agent's coloring seemed back to normal and his eyes looked brighter and more alert again; but he was thinner, making the delicate planes of his face even more defined, which in turn made him appear even younger and more boyish. No wonder those teenage girls were so taken with him and had tried to get him to eat something, Solo thought

"So…other than I can tell you've lost a little weight, all in all, I have to say you look better than you did even a couple of days ago." he commented. "Feeling any better?"

Illya raised the hand that had an IV taped to the back of it and brushed the long bangs out of his eyes. "I guess. The headache is finally lessening, but I'm still overly tired."

"That's partly due to the dehydration," Solo observed. "The docs say your experience literally drained you of vitality and energy. But they feel that after a few more days of bed rest and treatment you'll be back on your feet soon."

To that Illya merely nodded.

Napoleon considered his friend's withdrawn demeanor, guessing that the Russian was feeling a little depressed, and he thought he knew the reason why.

"I've been told that the U.N.C.L.E. neurologists also seem to feel you are slowly getting your full memory back, which is also good."

Seeing the troubled expression that appeared on the younger man's face at the mention of the lingering partial amnesia he had been suffering with as a result of his prolonged exposure to the crystal skulls and sarcophagus, Solo knew he had correctly guessed the reason for his friend's glum mood.

"Illya, the doctors really do believe you will regain one hundred percent of your memory," he assured him. "It will just take a little more time, that's all."

"If I don't, I'm likely out of a job and you'll be shopping for a new partner," Illya replied as he lay back on his pillows.

Before Solo could respond to that the Russian closed his eyes and said, "I'm grateful for you being here, Napoleon. But I think I will rest now. I'm sure you must have better things to do."

"No, not really, not at the moment. So I think I'll just stick around."

Illya's eyes opened again and he turned his head toward Solo. "To hold my hand?" There was a hint of irritation in his voice.

Taking no offense, Solo repressed a smile, knowing how much the independent Russian hated to be coddled, whether it be by teenage admirers or his friend and partner.

Illya had lived on his own for most of his life with no one but himself to rely on, and that made it hard for him to accept that others actually did genuinely care about what happened to him. Solo had figured out long ago that the Russian's stoic reserve and distant manner at times were psychological barriers Illya had erected to protect himself and to keep people from getting too close. So as usual when he got this way, Napoleon took another approach.

"Well, actually I was thinking I'd just stick around in case one of those, umm, Candy Stripers decides to sneak back in here while you slept and cut a lock of your hair for a memento to put under her pillow," Solo grinned, settling back in his chair.

Seeing that his partner was determined to stay, the Russian rolled over onto his side facing away from him. "I apologize, Napoleon. It's always good to know you have my back," he mumbled sleepily. Within minutes his gentle snoring told the senior agent he was out like a light.

Shaking his head at Illya's dry-humored pun, Solo opened the magazine he'd carried in with him, but his thoughts soon strayed from the article he'd begun reading.

He shifted in the chair and stretched, then glanced over toward the younger agent again when he stirred restlessly in his sleep. He knew that Illya had been put through the wringer physically and mentally on this assignment. And ironically not by the usual baddies like THRUSH, but by basically good people with misguided intentions who did some bad things in the guise of scientific discovery and world acclaim.

And as a result Eva, Reginald Falk, and the Harrington's had been wrong in believing Illya would not be adversely affected by his prolonged exposure to the sarcophagus and crystal skulls: The young Russian had remained n a coma nearly three weeks after his rescue by Solo.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

 **Reflections**

* * *

As he continued his quiet vigil while Illya slept, Napoleon could not help but think back again over the past month's dramatic events.

Although Illya's vital signs had returned to normal after his rescue, he never awoke as he should have—and the U.N.C.L.E. doctors initially feared that he might never come out of the coma he had slipped into. Neurological tests had shown abnormal brain wave activity that could not be explained. And Waverly and Solo were also told by the specialists it was their belief this was caused by Illya's exposure to the crystal skulls and sarcophagus after he had sustained such a serious head injury. It was their opinion that channeling such enormous power would have indeed killed him if Napoleon hadn't stopped the ritual when he did.

In a rare decision due to the unusual circumstances, Alexander Waverly had granted Solo a special extended leave so he could stay with the comatose Kuryakin...where for hours each day and night the senior agent would tirelessly read or talk to the unconscious pale young man attached to a plethora of medical life-sustaining equipment.

It was Napoleon's determined belief that the familiarity of his voice and the strength of their friendship would somehow filter into that brilliant lost mind and serve as a homing beacon to help guide Illya out of the abyss of the coma and back toward the light of wakefulness.

Even when co-workers like April Dancer and Mark Slate came to relieve Napoleon's vigil and sit by Illya's bedside, the senior agent would only leave for a short time to grab something to eat or run home and shower and change his clothing. Of them all he knew it would be _he_ , Illya's partner and best friend….and surrogate family…who had the best hope of bringing the young Russian out of his comatose state.

And late one rainy Sunday night while reading to Illya from Boris Pasternak's epic _Dr. Zhivago,_ that never-wavering belief was finally realized when Napoleon Solo suddenly heard Illya mumble his name...and open his blue eyes.

* * *

When Dean Channing had learned of the nocturnal kidnappings of her students including Illya, and what Eva Langstrom, Reggie Falk, and the Harrington's had been attempting to do and why, she immediately wanted to fire them all and have them arrested even though she had considered them good friends and trusedt colleagues.

However, at the behest of Federal authorities, Alexander Waverly convinced her not to do that, telling her U.N.C.L.E. psychologists and medical specialists would wipe all memory of the crystal skulls and sarcophagus from their minds and implant them with new false control memories.

Initially Dean Channing did not want to participate in such a cover up, but she trusted in Alexander Waverly, who made it clear to her that the very survival of Prichard College as a venerated institution of higher learning was seriously threatened. It was fortunate, at least, that the few students who had been afflicted (with the exception of Illya) had now fully recovered; and they and their families believed they had merely been suffering from the stresses of college life at Prichard, especially at end of term exam time.

In addition, as Waverly had pointed out, the sudden firing of four of Prichard's most popular teachers would seem strange and cause gossip and speculation that perhaps would also bring unfavorable media scrutiny to the school, which could also cause irreparable damage to its reputation. Lawsuits also would likely follow if the parents of those students abducted while they slept knew what had really been happening to their children while at the school.

Since the four academics and two janitors had already been secured along with the skulls and sarcophagus when the U.N.C. L. rescue teams were sent in for Illya, implementing U.N.C.L.E.'s memory manipulating technologies would be simple.

In the meantime, the short-term absence of Eva Langstrom, Reginald Falk, and the Harrington's would be explained as the result of a flu-like virus that had infected some of the faculty. Once the altered memory treatments were completed, the four academics would be returned to Prichard to finish out the last few weeks of the semester. They would each awaken n their respective homes to the belief they'd been ill with a bad virus.

Then once the current academic year ended and summer break began, a re-programmed Reginald Falk would *willingly announce* he was taking an early retirement, the Harrington's would *eagerly* go to Crete to join in an international archaeological expedition there, and Eva Langstrom would *happily accept* a new teaching offer from another university—all which would be prearranged by U.N.C.L.E.

No one would miss the two janitors, who were easily replaced by a temporary service. Following an investigation into the backgrounds of the two men, U.N.C.L.E. had learned that both had previous records as petty criminals and had served short stints in a Pennsylvania prison. Apparently one of the men was also an ex-brother-in-law of Reginald Falk's deceased partner. Falk had used his influence and position at Prichard to secure the services of both ex-cons to work at the school as janitors so that they could abduct Illya and the others students when necessary. After their memory swiping, both men would be returned to prison on the excuse of patrol violations, as arranged by Federal authorities.

Illya's sudden absence from his classes would be explained to his teachers and new friends, like Kellie Morgan, that he'd suffered a sudden ruptured appendix, which would also help to account for why he'd seemed so ill recently and why he would not be there to finish the semester. Later it would be given out that after his recovery his wealthy physician parents had taken him with them when they relocated back to Kiev, Russia, where he would continue his schooling.

Solo's absence as Professor Sinclair was easily explained by the return of anthropology Professor Roger Lewis from his sabbatical.

* * *

Alexander Waverly and Dean Channing were among the select few who knew that the crystal skulls and sarcophagus were deemed by Federal leadership and U.N.C.L.E's top scientific consultants to be too dangerous for further scientific scrutiny and testing; and a decision was made to separate the pieces and crate and hide them among the Smithsonian's vast collection of thousands of stored artifacts that the public did not even know existed and would never see displayed.

In this way the true identity and purpose of the skulls and sarcophagus would also be obscured in such a way they would remain stored for decades to come and basically forgotten while still under the watchful eye of the American government.

In essence—the entire "brain drain" affair wold be buried in bureaucracy.

* * *

"Rather like hiding them in plain sight, if you will," Alexander Waverly had later explained to Solo. "And perhaps someday mankind will have grown wise enough to know how to use the knowledge and power within the skulls and their sarcophagus without damaging or destroying those who attempt to unlock all their secrets," he'd added.

Solo knew Waverly was right. Illya was the smartest person he'd ever known yet that brilliant young man's own exposure to the skulls and sarcophagus had nearly killed him.

And that possibility had rocked the senior agent to the core with the realization that U.N.C.L.E. would not only have sacrificed a superb agent and gifted academic, but he, Napoleon Solo, would have lost the best partner and fined he'd ever had...or could ever hope to have.

He looked over at the sleeping Russian again, knowing that despite his friend's own secret doubts and fears, he could now see for himself that his Illya was quickly regaining his physical stamina and agility of mind…for which Napoleon was profoundly grateful.

He settled himself more comfortably in the chair, and within moments he, too, had drifted off, content in knowing that his partner would soon be back to his normal self, and then Waverly would send them off together on another dangerous mission to thwart the bad guys (or misguided good guys) of this world.

And when that happened, all would be right with Napoleon Solo's own world again as well.


	18. Chapter 18

**EPILOGUE**

 **A Promise Kept**

* * *

Still wearing his sunglass due to some light sensitivity that he still had following his harrowing ordeal, Illya parked his rental car and entered Barzetti's Pizza Parlor. He took a seat in a back booth away from the few other patrons still in the eatery at that hour, none of whom, he was quickly able to determine, was anyone he knew from Prichard. It was nearing sundown and he had timed this visit knowing that the pizza parlor would be closing soon. He also knew Anna would be there because he'd seen her car out in the parking lot.

Behind the counter she was talking to her assistant, so she'd not noticed the newcomer who had just entered her place, possibly because the old Werlitzer jukebox was playing so loudly.

But her assistant and co-manager, Lisa, had been facing the door and saw the attractive young blond man enter and go sit alone at a back booth. Recognizing him when he took off his sunglasses she said something to Anna, who turned and looked down toward Illya, who smiled at her and nodded.

The expression on Anna's pretty face changed from disbelief to uncertainty, and she took off her apron and laid it aside, then came from behind the counter and walked toward him.

As she approached, Illya couldn't help admired her long legs and rounded hips outlined in the tight short tan skirt she was wearing and her full high bosom with its enticing hint of cleavage displayed by her snug-fitting white elbow-length blouse. Her dark golden curls were pinned atop her head, although a few tendrils had escaped, and she flushed a little as her cornflower blue eyes met his appreciative gaze.

Reaching his booth she said softly in her husky voice, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again." She was staring at him as if she was seeing an apparition.

"I made a promise to you to return, and now I have, although I am truly sorry, Anna, that it has taken me this long." He had replied in equally low tones, although no one could have overheard them because of the blaring music from the juke. "I know you must have thought you'd only been a one-night stand to me when I didn't come back or call, but that was never what it was for me. And that's why I am here now to explain to you why I hadn't contacted you or returned as soon as I had promised."

"It was a pleasant encounter that I had hoped would be repeated, but things just didn't work out that way. But that was months ago, so no explanation is necessary, Illya," she said and started to walk away, but he grabbed her hand to forestall her leaving and squeezed it gently.

"Please sit down and just hear me out," he asked quietly. "Then if you want me to leave, I will."

Letting go of her he made an inviting motion for her to join him, and after a moment's hesitation she slid onto the red leather bench seat across form him.

Now really looking at him, she could see he seemed different somehow in both his appearance and demeanor. His golden streaked hair, still over-long, was more neatly trimmed and not as wild. Although casually dressed he wasn't wearing jeans and a tee, but had on dress shoes, dark tailored slacks and a blue-gray Austin Reed sports jacket worn over a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at his throat in a deep V. He seemed more contained and in control of himself, and the combination of all these things gave him an air of maturity and sophistication she'd not realized before.

She folded her hands in front of her. "Yes, I thought that for you it had only been a forgettable encounter with an older available…and lonely… woman, even though some of your friends told me you'd been taken ill with appendicitis and then had never returned to the school." She looked down at her clasped hands. "I thought perhaps you had asked them to tell me that as an excuse to avoid me if I inquired about you."

Illya reached out and put his hand over hers.

"It was nothing like what you imagined, Anna. And I am so sorry for the pain I have caused you. I have been seriously ill for the past two months, but not with appendicitis. But I'm fine now and that's why I came as soon as I could to apologize and tell you the truth about me."

"The truth about you? What do you mean?" she asked, looking confused.

Reaching into his jacket he pulled out his wallet and fished out what looked to be a yellow business card and laid it facing her on the table between them.

She looked down, reading his real name printed above the black embossed U.N.C.L.E. logo…and then her head snapped up.

"That's really _who_ you are… _what_ you are…an U.N.C.L.E. agent?! " she gasped. "Why were you at Prichard posing as a student? And...and how old are you really?" she asked with obvious shock.

He smiled, putting the card away. "Yes and yes, to your first two questions. I went undercover as a student as part of an assignment, but beyond that I cannot discuss it further. But I'm actually 30, so you weren't robbing the cradle quite as much as you had worried you were." He leaned in closer and said in a softer tone, "Let me come home with you tonight, Anna, and I'll tell you as much as I can about myself, or at least what I'm allowed to tell you." He took one of her hands in his again, entwine his fingers through hers. "I promise it will be a most entertaining…and unforgettable…bedtime story."

His long-lashed electric blue eyes were now staring suggestively into her mesmerized gaze—and a thrill of breathless anticipation swept through her body as her heat began to beat wildly in response to the promise she saw in those beautiful eyes.

The juke box suddenly quieted as if it also awaited her decision….and without looking away from Illya she called out, "Lisa, can you close up tonight? I will be leaving a little early."

** _FINIS_ ** :-D

* * *

 **AUTHOR NOTES Odds 'n Ends:**

Sooo, are ya thinkin' I've been watching too many episodes of "Ancient Aliens"?! Ha, you may be right! But sometimes MFU could get a little "out there" with the plots.

Remember the U.N.C.L.E. episode where lllya nearly becomes a mummy?! That also inspired me to do this story.

And did you catch the reference Reginald Falk made to the von Däniken Zurich conference he had planned to attend? I put that in as a bit of an inside joke since Erich von Däniken would release his first controversial book, _Chariots of the Gods,_ in the latter 60s.

The last Indiana Jones film was *I.J. and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull*...and the Smithsonian actually does have articles and videos online about the (controversial) crystal skulls which have been found around the world to date.

Were you pleased that Illya returned to Anna to keep his promise? I felt that by the end of this story I needed to allow him to become more of the adult he actually was. But people have already let me know they loved seeing him go undercover as a college student and hope I'll do another story with that theme. Anything is possible!

(Thanks so very much for reading. And an added thank you to those who have also shared their thoughts on this one! xxDA)


End file.
